This Is No Ordinary Love Affair
by maya295
Summary: ONE-SHOT! Set after 7x13 "Two Stories" - House and Cuddy yell at each other, but in the end, everyone knows they're made for each other. No words is needed to rationalize such evidence, because it speaks for itself, righ?  sexy  reconciliation ahead...


_Hi everybody!_

_Another one shot! This one is settled just after episode 7x13 "Two Stories." House asked Cuddy to give him another chance and she invited him to her place…_

_This is how I want them to reconcile… ;-)_

_I hope you'll like it. _

_reviews make me happy. you have NO idea how much!..._

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** THIS IS NO ORDINARY LOVE AFFAIR **

Nine already. She is pacing up and down her house, waiting for him, and it feels like she's been doing that for hours now while, considering she came back from the hospital around seven, took care of Rachel, fed her, put her to bed, then took a shower and cooked diner, she's really been waiting for less than fifteen minutes actually… She thinks it's a little bit stupid, to be impatient that way, like a teenager waiting for her date on prom night. But that's how he makes her feel and she can't help it.

Who is she trying to fool? 'Done with him?' How in a million years could she be '_done_ with _him_?' She's been tired, and confused and angry again lately, but it's only for not being sure, or because she can feel the rhythm of her life accelerate when, at the same time, she is incapable of braking or slowing down like she would want to.

As a matter of fact, no; she doesn't want to slow down. But she really needs to feel like she _can_. And when she's with him, she loses that ability completely. It unnerves her to no end. She doesn't ask much, but for Christ's sake, just _that_! Just the sensation, not even a reality – she won't lie to herself - that she still can be in control. Rules? He has none. He breaks them all, she yells and he lowers his head down, waiting for the storm to calm down but even though she knows she's right he still makes her feel like she's the mean, hysterical one. Punctuality? Wishful thinking! She has a schedule which is scrupulously planned by the minute and he always shows up at the most ill-timed moments, not even giving a damn, maybe not even realizing that's not the right moment. He doesn't care. He's demanding. He's pervasive. He only listens to his needs and he's always there to ask her to fulfill them. Ask? Oh yes! That's something he knows how to do! But what does he give? What does he give _to her_?

This is wrong. _He_ is wrong. He's trouble incarnate. He makes her do things she shouldn't do. He's not there when she needs him. He buries her under tons of administrative forms she would gladly throw away instead of filling them all the time, to file complaints, hide his medically questionable procedures, excuse him in front of the Board…

Stop. Stop. STOP!

Why is she lying to herself like that? Who decides what's right and what's wrong? What if she didn't want what's right?

He covers her with gifts. Stolen gifts maybe, which he snatches in comatose patients' rooms but her office is filled with flowers. Every day. Roses, peonies, lilies. And perfume. He gave her a perfume and it was the perfect fragrance, exactly made for her, that she'd been looking for all her life but had never found until he offered it to her. It melted under her skin, became her odor. So her, but above all, so him, knowing her, to the tiniest pore of her body…

Because he knows how to pleasure her and none of the men she's been with before has carried her that far into the land of lust. Being in his arms is absolute abandon. When he touches her, she forgets every one of her tense and sore muscles, she forgets her worries. His hands, how he trails his hands on her body, to explore her; his lips, the spots he kisses with his lips, the delicacy of his gestures, the rawness of his desire… He thinks of her needs, long before he thinks of his. He aims to satisfy her and reveals himself in her ecstasies.

Sex with him? It's an addiction. And she won't lie, she can't conceive living without it now. He's the most tender, caring, gentle lover she's ever met. And wild, crazy, inspired, and insatiable too. But there's no secret behind it though. Her body is made for his body. It's just as simple as that. They complete each other. Their curves and hollows are designed to fit together. Her breasts fill the palm of his hands, the pulp of his lips is made to embrace the crook of her neck, her cheekbones rest perfectly on his chest, her hips nestle in his hips, his length reaches her womb and hits that spot, breathtaking, and his rocking movements always match the rhythm of the waves that grow inside her. Always.

Sex, yes. Lustful, overwhelming, and unforgettable. That could be it. The definition of who they are. It could be the pith of them being together. _The reason_ _why_. Just desire, and unquenchable cravings. Perfect symbiosis of the bodies. Addictive explosions of sensations elicited by their lovemaking.

But it's not.

He makes love to her like no other yet he knows her far beyond just the limits of her physical needs. He knows her weaknesses. He knows her fears and her hesitations. And he knows just how to shake her back to her senses and make her stronger when she feels lost. He saved her mother, but he made her realize she had to stand up to her. She finally found the courage to say 'no' to her because he, like no one else, knew exactly how to titillate her pride. He's exhausting, and selfish, and he drives her crazy… But he challenges her. He makes her think, farther than she would allow her mind to wander. He forces her to take paths she wouldn't take if he weren't there, somehow reassuring her that it's ok to dare. He inspires her with self-confidence, boldness, and determination.

He is the passion that's been missing in her life all those years. _He_ _is the passion_.

Alone, she would be wise, and careful. She would tiptoe through her days and avoid troubles. And it would be quiet and stress free maybe, but dull, and so boring. Alone she would live an unsurprising life. Common. And she doesn't want common.

Despite her protesting and yelling, and getting mad, she lied to herself; because she never needed time alone to think. Answers? She's got them all already: what she wants is simple. She wants to be exhausted, angry, swept off her feet, taken aback. She wants no routine. No. She wants the _unexpected_ to be her routine; but she wants security and reassurance too. And she wants to have faith in herself. She wants to feel invincible, carefree and strong. She wants to do it on her own. But she wants to feel supported. And she wants butterflies in her stomach just with the power of one male gaze on her. She wants to know how it feels to miss somebody until it hurts. She wants to snuggle up in the warmth of strong arms. She wants to feel protected. She wants to know if she's gonna make it when she has doubts. Hear that she's doing good. She wants to _feel_ good.

And fuck! Who's she been fooling all this time, grumbling and protesting? It doesn't exist. It DOESN'T exist! But he… He's the only one, and the closest. The closest one to that crazy fantasy of hers. Screwed up, unpredictable, unreliable and wrong, wrong, _so_ wrong, but dammit, she doesn't want any other men! It's him and it's always been him. It's like a chemical reaction. Fire and water. Opposite magnet poles.

Who has she been fooling all this time?

She finally hears a sound. The sound of him. The appealing sound of his cane rhythmically rapping on the wood. She runs. God, she really is _that_ impatient. Just at the threshold, she stops to give herself time to catch her breath and rearrange her hair, one last coquetry before opening the door.

He stands there, unsure, with a sheepish smile and she instantly melts when she sees him. She bits her lips and tilts her head to the side slightly, eyeing him up and down seductively. Her gaze falls on something he holds inside his hands.

"What's this?"

"a CD."

"You brought a CD?" She asks, incredulous, her eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Just one song. I wanted to bring food but you said you were on a diet. See? I listen to you…" He emphasizes his point with an intense stare, "So I chose this instead. _Music soothes the soul _you know…"

"What's the song?"

"Hmm," He hesitates and then smiles roguishly, "Bo Carter: 'Banana in your fruit basket'. Take it as a sort of compromise between food and music… Or a metaphor…" His raspy voice trails.

"How subtle."

"Actually, it's a 100% pure authentic blues song. From the 30's!"

"I'm sure you reveled in picking that song."

"Yeah, but it was a _tough_ choice… You wouldn't believe how many other very good songs there are out there that could have fitted the occasion." He says, looking at her with this irresistible childish spark of mischief behind the eyes, mixed with just a splash of this arrogant self-confidence of his.

Cuddy feels her legs give way under her a little bit more. The butterflies, they're already there. Everywhere in her body, deliciously tickling.

"You wanna come in?" She invites more than she asks, impatiently grabbing his wrist to tug him inside.

He resists and pulls apart.

"Wait, I have something else for you." He says with a mysterious smile.

He leans over to the side and reappears a second later with a huge flower bouquet in his arms, almost as large as himself. She bursts into laughter.

"I take it you like it?" He says, the sound of his voice muffled by the volume of the colored bush in front of him.

"House, I'm not sure I have big enough a vase to put them inside."

"Really?" He suddenly pokes an eye from behind the bouquet and his eyebrows arch in mock surprise. "Ok then."

Before Cuddy knows it, he offhandedly throws the flowers away to his left. First it makes a funny whoosh sound, then a splash as Cuddy pictures it falling on the grass somewhere in her garden. Her jaws drop open and she stares at him astonished, but with a wide beam.

"You're crazy." She says, almost resignedly, but she really is making a statement more than a reproach, just before yanking him towards her decidedly, not leaving him any chance to resist this time.

House stumbles inside and she kicks the door shut behind him, already grabbing his coat's lapels to take it off of him.

"Cuddy…" he starts, with a slightly hesitant intonation which she reads as a sign he could probably start reciting a sorry speech just now, if she doesn't stop him.

Sorry speech? Who needs sorry speeches when there is nothing to be sorry about? She wants him. He wants her. The rest doesn't matter. They have their whole life to talk about how stupid her irrational tantrum looked like and how truly responsible of it he was with his unnerving, unconcerned attitude. But right now, this is really not the point. Not the point at all.

"Shut up!" She commands and she pushes him against the wall just in front of her living room. He gasps while her impatient hands are already on his waist, pulling, tugging… She struggles with the buttons of his jeans and her eager agitation sucks him into the passion of the instant.

He clasps her inside his arms, feverishly, and in a matter of seconds, his long fingers find their way underneath her sweater and slide up along her spine.

"You're not wearing a bra!" He notices matter-of-factly after a delightful, but quick exploration of her bare back; it's more a confirmation of something he'd undeniably guessed the moment she's appeared in front of him at the door though, but to feel evidence of it under his fingertips arouses him even more now.

"That's right," she answers breathlessly, "I thought, why put one on when ultimately we both know it'll be off in a minute."

"A minute, really?" He smiles.

"Yeah, well… do you really need to eat something anyway?" She asks coyly.

"Hmm, is that a metaphor, or are you talking about food for real?"

"I guess both."

"Then my answers are… yes… and no. Or… the other way around, depends on which order you mean it…"

"I mean it as… " She's panting and she stops herself in the middle of her sentence. To hell with what she means! Words aren't what they need right now, what they need is action. She throws her head backwards and he dives in her neck to kiss her and nib at her jugular greedily. She grunts like a panther. Desire rises up a notch even more. It pervades them now and shakes them like a seismic wave.

She slides his belt off his jeans loops and sends it flying away above her shoulder, behind her in the hallway. The belt's buckle hits the tile floor and makes a high-pitched metallic sound. House freezes, dreading the whining sobs of a little girl's voice calling her mommy next and ruining their moment.

"Rachel is asleep." Cuddy instantly reassures him, while she keeps undressing him methodically. Her gestures are precise, fidgety but determined. She unbuttons his jeans and hooks the waistband with her fingers.

"How much deeply asleep are we talking about exactly?" He asks.

"Sound proof asleep."

"High expectations… I like that."

House leans down to takes her lips but she breaks apart, out of his reach, and then, when he least expects it, she suddenly slowly and teasingly goes down on her knees in front of him. Her next move, unhesitant, pulls both his pants and boxers down at his ankles.

"Jesus Christ, Cuddy what are you doing?" House asks, clenching his fists along his thighs. She gently cups his balls inside one of her slender hands and bends over towards his hard cock, starting to lick the head with the tip of her tongue a few times and truth is, at this point, his question has become more than perfectly superfluous, but he's dying to hear her say it.

"What do you think it looks like?" she answers with a husky, seductive voice, "I'm blowing you down, that's what." And as if it wasn't enough proof already, she wraps his throbbing member around her lips and takes his length in her mouth, sliding it down her throat slowly.

"Oh fuck!" House's head falls backwards and his skull hits the wall with a thud, but that's nothing compared to the dizziness he just felt with the wet and sweet sensation of her mouth taking control of him entirely. His hands grope around and search for her hair and he slides his fingers into her raven curls while she continues to suck him inside her mouth and caress him with her tongue. Her hands tenderly fondle his thighs and while she licks him, no matter how hard he'd try to lie to himself and pretend it is just a pleasuring act, if it sends him straight to heaven, it's only because it's _her_.

He has a few options from then on. He could come now, into her mouth, and he's in fact not far away from it, or he could take her, right there and then, and increase his pleasure by reveling in her own, the one _he_ would give her. The prospect of eliciting moans of bliss from her is enough motivation to make him settle the dilemma in no time. Decidedly, he seized her by the shoulders and pulls her up toward him.

"What?" She gasps, taken aback.

He doesn't give her time to worry though as his hands skillfully deals with her pants and have them slide along her legs before she can formulate another question. And another question, she has none actually, as it is obvious that she has all the answers she needs when House manly swings her around and pushes her against the wall, her back to him, her breasts pressing against the concrete. With one knee, he parts her legs open and slips his hand between her folds to search for her entrance. He's not long to find it, warm and wet against his fingers and, impatiently, he pushes his hard member inside her and penetrates her as deep as the position allows him to. He can't fill her completely but the round firmness of her ass cheeks provides the necessary complementary massage to his length.

"God dammit!" He wheezes when his first thrust pins her against the wall and he feels his hips banging against the small of her back.

She moans once, lasciviously, and instinctively spreads her hands on the wall, in front of her, at shoulders length to keep herself steady. With his left arm, he encircles her waist possessively and pulls her into his embrace tightly. She responds by arching towards him and the sensual curve of the small of her back, rubbing against his manhood, drives him completely crazy. It increases his need to slam into her even more. The urgency of this raw outburst is nothing rational. It's pure lust, needing release and while he thrusts harder and faster, she starts panting louder and throws her head back against his collarbone, stretching her neck and offering her windpipe to his ferocious appetite. The delicate lines of her nape appeals him and he nose-dives in her neck, biting her flesh and she protests with a groan but arches against him in a jolt and he tightens his embrace to maintain her against him closer. His right hand climbs up and gets round her shoulder then up her neck, and he spreads his palm along her jugular and the tips of his fingers grip her jaw. He pulls her head to the side and the next second, in an absolute feverish excitement, their lips devour each other and while House continues to pound her with that growing force only the last thrusts before abandon can contain, irrepressibly, Cuddy's hands start to clench into a fist and she hits the wall as the energy of orgasm pierces through her and makes her legs weak and her whole body starts to tremble in his arms.

Silence, beautiful and amazing silence is next. After the cries of lust and the rhythmic bangs of their bodies against the wall, suddenly, there's not a sound anymore. Just their breathing, fast and panting, muffled by the smoothness of their sweating skin in which they've buried their faces, House in her upper back, and Cuddy in the crook of his arm, wrapped around her collarbones, griping her tightly as if he needed to anchor himself to her not to fall.

When he arrived at her place earlier, he wanted to tell her what he'd meant to tell her for so long; what he should have told her long ago already: he needs her in her life. Every day and night. All the time, he needs her; to feel weak, to be strong. To be unsure and assertive. To patronize him, boss him around, ask for his advice. Caress him, snuggle up against him. To yell and to whisper sweet, sweet words to him. To be angry at him, in awe, full of expectancies. To smile and to cry. Because of him.

All of that, and more, if she wants to give it to him, he's ready to take it! Because he now knows he has the right to claim it just like anybody else. She makes him feel like he deserves it…

He wanted to tell her that and he didn't. But, as he inhales the fragrance of her perfume emanating from the warmth of her skin in the crook of her neck he knows she's understood every word he didn't say just the same…

After all, this is no ordinary love affair they're living.

## THE END ##

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_**A/N**_

_Are you not completely and absolutely excited for tonight's episode "Bombshells"? I am! whatever it comes down to I have such a strong feeling it's gonna be awesome! I CAN'T WAIT._

_Maybe it'll inspire me lots of positive, crazy Huddy stuff to write… I hope!_

_Be well, and enjoy life! __maya_

_PS: (to those of you who also read IYLM): I have read all your reviews and PMs after my author's note. And I think it's fair to say the majority still encourages me to go on, which I can only thank you for! I guess now, all I have to do is keep writing and deliver soon! So stay tuned…._


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